


Evidence of Absence

by nessismore



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Missing Persons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 04:02:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessismore/pseuds/nessismore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is only one thing he believes for sure, and that is that she isn’t dead. She's still out there, and he will find her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evidence of Absence

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks very much to metonymy for reading this over! All the love and cookies to you <3

They’re walking back from a movie hand in hand, laughing as Darcy playfully steps over Steve’s feet, trying to trip him because every time she makes him stumble, he presses a smiling kiss to her lips. They’ve loved each other for what seems like forever, but their relationship is still shiny, and they’re reveling in the wonderful newness of it all. Around the tower, Jane keeps muttering about how she can’t wait for the honeymoon phase to be over. Darcy always sticks her tongue out and tells her that they all had to sit through Jane and Thor’s, so she can just stuff it.  
  
Steve’s pulling Darcy in for another kiss when the explosion happens. He shields her instinctively as a building nearby erupts in flames, wincing as a piece of debris hits his shoulder. He looks down and Darcy’s eyes are wide with fear. She shouts to be heard over the people screaming and the echo of other explosions throughout the city. “Go.”  
  
He hugs her tight and says, “Get somewhere safe,” but she shakes her head and looks towards the people streaming out of the decimated building.  
  
“I can help.” She looks terrified but determined, and she pushes him to move. “Go.”  
  
He doesn’t like this. He wants her home. He wants her safe. “Darcy—“  
  
“I can help,” she says firmly. “And I’m going to.”  
  
There’s no time to argue with her and he nods, touching his forehead to hers. Another explosion rocks the city, and he clutches her arms tightly, trying to memorize the scent and feel of her, because he knows that every time the city is attacked, he might not come back. “Be careful.”  
  
“You too.” She smiles tremulously, then presses a quick, sloppy kiss to his lips. “See you on the other side.”  
  
Only he doesn’t. When the battle is over, she is nowhere to be found.  
  
—  
  
They scour the city for her. They search the hospitals, the clinics, and the shelters. It kills him to do it, but he searches the list of the dead when Bruce gently suggests it. Tony sits with him while he does this. Just in case, he says. Steve mourns these people, even as his heart shudders with every name that isn’t hers, with every Jane Doe who doesn’t have her face. It’s a heartrending and useless exercise because he knows she’s not dead. He knows it in the way he _has_ to because he won’t accept anything else.  
  
Jane devotes herself to the task of finding Darcy with the same single-minded intensity she’d devoted to finding a way to get Thor back to Earth. Instead of science, she does research, putting out fliers, sending Clint and Steve to chase down leads. Thor has to force her to rest. Steve knows that it frustrates Thor that in this, he is powerless.  
  
Natasha, too, pulls out every trick she knows, calls in every favor she has at her disposal to try to find her. She’s as stoic as Steve’s ever seen her, but there’s a tension at the corners of her lips that he’s only seen once—when they’d first met and Barton had been under Loki’s control. It’s a stark reminder that he’s not the only who loves Darcy, that he’s not the only one who feels her loss.  
  
And still, there’s no sign of her.  
  
—  
  
Two months later, they’re still digging bodies out of the wreckage of the city, and each new day brings the fear that they’re going to find her there. Each new day renews the fear that they’ll never find her at all.  
  
He’s not sleeping, but he doesn’t need much of it anyway. Jane does, though, and he often has to force her to go to bed, and he makes sure one of the agents or Thor ensures that she eats. He wants to find Darcy, but if he does it at the expense of her friend, she’ll kill him.  
  
“I know we’re odd,” she’d said once of her friendship with Jane. “We don’t always understand each other, but we fit in a weird we-complement-each-other kind of way. I make sure she stays alive, she makes sure I stay focused. It works for us.”  
  
So while he knows that Jane has Thor, he tries to take care of her like he knows Darcy would want him to until she gets back.  
  
—  
  
At night, he’s haunted by dreams of what might have happened to her, what might be happening to her now, because if she’s safe, she would have contacted them by now. She would have been home. There is only one thing he believes for sure, and that is that she isn’t dead. She can’t be dead.  
  
It’s been five months of false leads, false starts, and false hopes. After the first few tips that Darcy had been this place or that, he’s learned not to let himself hope too high because the disappointment is crippling. There have been no viable leads, although people have come forward with stories about her that day. About how she’d freed a woman trapped in a supply closet in her office building, how she’d helped an injured man make it to a safe zone, how she’d sat with a group of kids and told them stories about superheroes to distract them from the terrible things going on outside. They said that she’d left in the middle of the fight, to look for others who might be looking to find shelter. That’s the last anyone’s seen of her. But he holds the stories that people had told to his heart as he remembers her determined “I can help.”  
  
“You did, Darcy,” he whispers. “Now help me find you.”  
  
—  
  
Natasha disappears for days—sometimes weeks—at a time, and Steve knows that she’s out looking for Darcy in places he wouldn’t even think to go, places where he can’t go unobtrusively with people who wouldn’t talk to him even if he did. This is where Natasha excels, and he doesn’t question it.  
  
On the surface, she’s the calmest about Darcy’s disappearance, but she’s just as dedicated as he is to finding her. She’s just as convinced that Darcy is still alive, and her belief gives him something to lean on. It’s something to hold on to when there’s no new information, when the nightmares get too much, when the lonely feels like it’s going to eat him from the inside out.  
  
He misses Darcy, her face, her voice, her laugh, and he needs her back.  
  
—  
  
It’s been eight months since Darcy’s gone missing, and he’s spent more time out of the tower than in it as he follows lead after lead, hoping that it will lead him to her. Tonight he is in his apartment after the last tip didn’t pan out, and he’s pushed himself hard enough lately that he actually needs the rest.  
  
He dreams of the feel of her skin against his, of her lips brushing against his forehead, her fingers stroking through his hair. When he wakes up alone again, he’s almost used to the ache that compresses his heart. He fumbles for his sketchbook, the one he’s filled with memories of her. As he draws, he remembers her arms around his waist as she whispers “I love you” into his shirt. He remembers her holding his hand as he tells her about his experiences in the war. He remembers the incredible lightness he feels when he’s with her, and he clings to the conviction that he’ll be with her again. His fingers are stained with charcoal by the time he’s done.  
  
He covers his face with his hands and, as always, prays that she’s okay.  
  
Later when he goes down to breakfast, he walks into a furiously whispered argument between Natasha, Jane, and Tony. He hears Jane hiss, “We are not putting her name on that memorial because she is not dead!” Natasha stands beside her, arms crossed, and nods in agreement.  
  
“Listen, we both know the reality of it here—“ Tony is saying, then breaks off abruptly when he sees Steve. “Steve. Morning.”  
  
“The reality of it is she isn’t dead.” He knows it’s not reasonable, because he doesn’t actually know that she’s alive. All he can do is believe it because there’s no other alternative. “She’s out there and I’m going to find her.”  
  
“But what if you don’t?” Tony asks, and Steve hears Jane sniffle in the background. “What if you have to accept that you’re never going to find her?”  
  
“That isn’t an option. We didn’t find her body—“  
  
Tony gets in his face, putting his hands on Steve’s shoulders like he wants to shake some sense into him. “It could have  burned up in an explosion. It could have disintegrated, for all we know. She could have ended up in the ocean. There are a hundred different reasons why we never found a body.”  
  
“There’s only one explanation,” Steve snarls, poking Tony in the chest. “She isn’t dead.”  
  
“You have to accept the fact that we might never find her.” The rational part of Steve knows that Tony isn’t trying to be cruel, that he’s trying to get Steve to face reality, but Steve hauls back and decks him anyway. As Tony’s sprawled on the ground, Steve is horrified over what he’s done. He opens his mouth to apologize, but nothing comes out. Instead, he grabs his jacket and heads out, not sure where he’s going, only knowing that he needs to go.  
  
He walks through the city the way he does sometimes, trying to find her face in the crowd. He does this all day, until he finally feels compelled to go back to the tower. Tony’s waiting for him outside his door. There’s a bruise on his cheek that Steve feels guilty about, but he’s not going to apologize. Tony’s not there to apologize either. He has a question.  
  
“What if you can’t find her?” Tony asks as Steve unlocks his door. “You going to look for her for the rest of your life?”  
  
“If that’s what it takes.” And he shuts the door firmly in Tony’s face.  
  
—  
  
The sun rises on the day exactly one year after Darcy vanished. Steve doesn’t get out of bed, because he was never in it. Every nightmare scenario, every memory of painful disappointment has come out to play across his mind. He’s paralyzed by it. He feels helpless, like he’s stuck here in the tower, but this isn’t like when Bucky was behind enemy lines. He doesn’t have a location for her so he can sweep in and save her or die trying. People have been calling or emailing saying that Darcy’s been seen anywhere from Vancouver to the Virgin Islands, but none of those have panned out. He checks his e-mail and there’s nothing, and it makes him want to scream in frustration.  
  
He can’t stay here any longer, so he goes to the gym and demolishes punching bag after punching bag. Afterwards, he’s exhausted, but not exhausted enough to not _feel_.  
  
He comes home to find them all sitting around the table, drinks in hand. There are pictures of Darcy in the center of the table, laughing with Natasha and Jane, flicking off the camera, trying to get Bruce to smile. They’re telling stories about her, remembering, and it feels suspiciously like they’re saying goodbye.  
  
The conversation stops when they see him in the doorway and Jane cannot meet his eyes. They’ve given up. They’ve all given up, and he hates them for that. He doesn’t go up to his apartment. Instead he goes to hers and tries to immerse himself in her memory.  
  
In the morning, he finds Natasha sitting at the foot of his bed. “When Darcy and I first met, I think I scared her.”  
  
Steve smiles faintly. “You did. But she thought you were awesome.” They’d become friends after that, which Tony thought was weird, because what could a former Russian assassin possibly have to talk about with your run-of-the-mill, somewhat aimless twenty-something? Plenty, apparently. They aren’t friends like Jane and Darcy are friends. There’s less giggling, less eye-rolling, and a lot less of one badgering the other to take care of herself. However, Darcy refuses to tell Steve what she talks about with Natasha.  
  
“It’s private,” she’d told him. “Just like how what you tell me is private. Unless it’s hilarious. Then I’m sharing it with everyone.”  
  
Natasha’s voice brings him back to the painful present. “I haven’t given up on finding her.”  
  
“Right. That’s why you were there last night.” He’s not being fair, and it shames him a little, but the ache of loss outweighs fairness.  
  
“They had alcohol,” Natasha says, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “And it’s good to talk about her. To remember her. The others, they were telling stories to let her go, but I am doing it to keep her close.”  
  
He decides she’s right. While they check and recheck obituaries and death certificates, facial recognition software and tip lines, they share memories of Darcy.  
  
—  
  
Jane avoids him. He knows she feels guilty because even though she still holds on to the hope that they’ll find Darcy, she doesn’t think they’ll find her alive. He understands, he really does, but he can’t seem to find the words to tell her that. So he avoids her, too. He’s avoiding everybody, really, except for Natasha because she still believes.  
  
He wonders if this is what Howard felt while they searched for him, if this searing ache in his chest is anything like what Peggy might have experienced. Or maybe this is worse, because he and Peggy hadn’t known each other long. What they’d been to each other was…possibility. Hope. A future to dream about at a time when he wasn’t sure he’d have a future at all.  
  
Even though he’d only been with Darcy for two months before she’d disappeared, they’d been friends for two years before that. They’d been intertwined indelibly into the fabric of each others’ everyday lives. Losing her is losing more than a possibility. It’s losing the best and brightest part of him and he has to get her back. He will get her back.  
  
—  
  
The HYDRA cell in New York is not easy to take down, but it isn’t the most difficult assignment they’ve ever had. Steve is numb to it anyway. He’s numb to everything except searching for her. The others still go through the motions of searching but he thinks they do it more for his sake than because they think she’s still out there. Or maybe they’re looking for a body. Either way, they don’t believe they’ll find her. He doesn’t blame them (although for a long time, maybe he did), but he knows that she’s still out there and that he will find her.  
  
He’s glancing over at the captive HYDRA agents when one of them catches his eye. A flash of memory hits him, almost two years old: this man, running out of a burning building, shouting like the others, but staring at him, staring at Darcy. Before anyone can stop him, Steve has the man by the throat, pinned against the wall.  
  
“Where is she?” The agent doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look at him. Steve takes out the picture of Darcy that he carries with him always and he shoves it in the man’s face. “What did you do with her?” The man is stoically silent.  
  
“I can get him to talk.” Steve turns to see Natasha and Clint in the doorway. Natasha saunters forward with lethal grace. “He won’t have a secret left when I’m done with him.”  
  
He hesitates, his grip loosening on the man’s throat. Where the HYDRA agent’s face had been blank before, there was fear in it now. Steve looks back from the man to Natasha, then back again. He nods.  
  
“You don’t want to be here for this, Captain,” Natasha says. Her eyes are as flat as her tone, and they brook no argument. He doesn’t put up much of a fight when Clint pulls him from the room.  
  
An hour later, Natasha emerges. “They had her.”  
  
He can’t breathe around the constriction in his throat, but he finally forces out, “Had?”  
  
“She escaped eight months ago. She might still be alive.” She gives him an address, the last place they’d held her before she’d escaped. He doesn’t ask how she got this information and she doesn’t offer. Instead she says, “Let’s go.” They grab Clint and commandeer a jet, then they’re on their way.  
  
They don’t tell the others that they’re going.  
  
—  
  
She isn’t in Albany, but for once there’s actually a trail that at least leads somewhere. It takes them back to the city, where Jane and the others meet them. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears, and her lips tremble with hope. But the trail goes cold again in Queens, which makes Steve pound his fists against the wall in frustration.  
  
They do the only thing they can do, and canvass the city again. Tony’s too recognizable to really help go door-to-door, but he and Bruce take out a map and assign areas for the others to split up and search. They plaster her picture everywhere, they go door-to-door with Darcy’s picture, asking if anyone’s seen her. No one ever says yes.  
  
Jane is with Steve as they stop in a neighborhood they haven’t checked yet. There’s a row of houses, and they knock on the door of each one. A gangly teenager answers the door at one house and looks at the picture, then back at Jane and Steve. “Sorry, I haven’t seen her.” Steve asks if he’s sure, but the kid shakes his head again. He politely thanks him for his time and is turning to leave when the kid asks, “Who’s she to you, anyway?”  
  
“She’s someone I love.” He pulls out another picture, the one he carries with him always. It’s of him and Darcy, and she’s sticking her tongue out at him while he laughs down at her. It’s his favorite picture, one of his favorite memories. He doesn’t know why he shows it to the kid, but he does.  
  
“Are you Steve?” he asks, and Steve’s head shoots up. Hope, unbidden, creeps up again.  
  
“How do you know my name?”  
  
The kid hesitates, then says, “She doesn’t remember much, but she says your name a lot.”  
  
“You know where she is?” Jane grabs his arm, like she needs the support. Steve carefully puts the picture back in his wallet and wipes his suddenly sweaty palms on his khakis. His heart stutters, then races, and all he can think of is that she might be _here_.  
  
The kid is watching them carefully. “Some guys were asking about her a few months back and they didn’t look like good guys. You guys do, but I had to be sure that you’re people that care about her.”  
  
“We—“ Steve’s voice breaks, and he clears his throat. “We are. We just want her home.”  
  
“I think I got that. Come in.” He leads them into the house, which is small but warm and welcoming. “We found her just outside the city. She was pretty beat up, and she doesn’t remember much about before. But she says she had to be in New York City. She isn’t sure why.” He looks at Steve. “And she says your name a lot.”  
  
The kid keeps up a running monologue as he leads them upstairs. “She’s been with us for six—almost seven—months and it’s taken her a while to heal.” They stop at a door and he hesitates. “Just…be careful with her, okay?”  
  
Steve nods. There’s a thrumming in his ears. His stomach is rioting, and he’s not sure he can breathe properly. Darcy might be behind that door. He doesn’t know if he can take the pain of disappointment this time if she isn’t. But then the door is open, and he’s staring at a brunette girl bent over a desk, writing furiously.  
  
She turns slowly when the door opens, and he’s looking at her. There’s no mistaking that it’s her. They stare at each other for a moment, taking each other in. She’s thinner than he remembers, her face more gaunt, and her hair is cut up to her chin. She’s got an unfamiliar pair of glasses perched on her nose, and her eyes are more guarded than he ever remembers seeing them. But she’s here.  
  
He takes a cautious step into the room. “Darcy.” And there’s a spark of recognition in her eye. “Do you know who I am?”  
  
She stands, taking a step toward him, reaching up to touch his face as if to confirm that he’s real. “Steve.” Her voice is hesitant, as if she isn’t sure, but then she says it again, more firmly, like a mantra she’s repeated time and again. “Steve. I’m safe with Steve.”  
  
And then she wraps her arms around him, and he’s holding her tight, tears pouring from his eyes. “I’m here to take you home.” **  
**


End file.
